


Sunrise

by Colaris



Category: Batman: Arkham - All Media Types
Genre: Arkham Verse, Character Death, Gore, M/M, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:28:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29760339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Colaris/pseuds/Colaris
Summary: Even a terrible night comes to an end at some point. //Scriddler, Post Arkham Asylum, Major Character Death
Relationships: Jonathan Crane & Edward Nygma
Kudos: 2
Collections: A crow finds a riddle in the dark





	Sunrise

Edward rubbed his aching shoulder and turned into the next side street, panting heavily while he was running into the overwhelming darkness. What a night. What a disaster. Holy fucking hell! It really hadn't gone according to his plan, not one bit. The Riddler leaned breathlessly against the nearby wall and stared out of the alley, watched as countless police cars raced across the asphalt towards the damn asylum. Joker really did a great job this time. As much as the raven-haired man despised the clown, one thing had to be left to the self-proclaimed prince of crimes: he knew how to create a somewhat orderly chaos while keeping an overview. Making plans that could actually work was probably just in the thick blood of the ugly clown face. The inventor let the back of his head fall against the crumbling masonry, sucking the air deeper into his lungs. How the hell had Batman found out about his location in Gotham again? Edward swore softly while holding his breath and hissed almost angrily. Had the Dark Knight actually somehow managed to break through his perfectly constructed firewall using obviously cheap tricks? That was impossible! Simply impossible! The man growled in frustration and hit the wall behind him hard with his fist. The Bat must have definitely been cheating. There was no other way to explain it. Edward cracked his fingers and circled his left shoulder once, groaning at the rising pain. After Batman had solved his last riddle through outrageous luck, a special unit of the GCPD burst into his apartment unannounced, which had forced him to flee. The raven-haired man laughed cautiously and pushed himself away from the masonry, strolling deeper into the darkness of the city. The Riddler had been well prepared for such eventualities. The fire escape of the actual building complex did not offer a safe route, of course, as it was always closely watched by the police when they tried to catch a culprit. Thus, months ago he had bought the apartment exactly opposite in the neighbouring building and connected the two apartments with each other with loose wooden boards. From there it was easy to escape almost undetected. Unfortunately, Edward hadn't thought about arranging the furniture in the living room for such a case. He would be as silent as a grave that he had only injured his shoulder because he had tripped over a loose socket strip like a complete idiot and had literally lay on his face. Embarrassing. The inventor listened attentively to the howl of the sirens. It gradually moved away from its position. The raven-haired man sighed dejectedly and stepped out onto one of the countless side streets. Where should he go now? Of course, he had innumerable hiding spots in Gotham, but it was important to think carefully which one would meet the optimal requirements for continuing to work undisturbed after such an incident.

A deafening roar above him gave the man an unexpected shock and forced him to look up at the dark sky. Three helicopters, presumably heavily armed, passed the narrow passages between the skyscrapers. Edward chuckled and mumbled softly into the night: "Are you fucking serious, Joker? How much undivided attention do you want to get from Batman, you egocentric, brain amputee idiot?” The inventor quietly hated the fact that the Bat cared so much about the Clown and almost neglected the other criminals - especially him, of course - if they didn't displayed the same destructiveness. Very depressing. It scratched his ego immensely. He demonstrably gave everything to create the most difficult and creative puzzles possible for the superhero and all that Batman showed him was indifference. The man ground his teeth. The Dark Knight would soon regret underestimating him. Edward shivered slightly as an icy breeze took hold of his form. Unfortunately, he hadn't had a winter jacket on hand when he escaped, and his green suit wasn't exactly that great protection from the bitter cold. The Riddler wandered almost aimlessly through the streets, lost in unexpectedly violent tirades of hate about the Bat. That he would only blame himself for his own failure in the end and that this anger slowly swallowed him up entirely since some years, the man pushed aside. Suddenly the puzzler had the uneasy feeling that something was wrong. It was a nagging, tormenting thought in his mind. Not that his plan hadn't failed that night anyway, but something seemed to be getting completely out of hand. What was it? What was so off right now? Edward frowned and grunted cautiously, thinking hard. Actually there was no reason to get grumpy. He had escaped successfully, the police seemed to want to take care of Joker, as always, and the Bat was probably not interested in arresting him at all. Nevertheless, the oppressive feeling persisted mercilessly. Maybe it would stop once he got to another hiding place. The Riddler passed the spacious promenade at the first bend of the Gotham River, looked for a while at the pitch-black water. The first ice crystals had formed on the surface and it would not be long before the frost would do the rest of its work. His blue eyes flew by themselves to the hazy outlines of the asylum. The victorian, often ominous-looking buildings were brightly lit by the headlights of the helicopters. Inwardly, the inventor still found Arkham to be a collection of beautiful and mysterious structures, which, however, immediately gave him goose bumps in their gruesome function. He would never again voluntarily set foot on this doomed island.

His last stay in particular had been so humiliating and hurtful that Edward had vowed to never get incarcerate again in this horrible institution. Even Blackgate was, in his opinion, more bearable. There at least was no attempt made to systematically process the already destroyed soul into a burning mush. That some local psychiatrists actually dared to call this treatment behaviour therapy was just one bad joke. No, what was really practices there was the mental castration of superior individuals for the protection of the imbecile population. The raven-haired man massaged his stiff neck and gave a muffled sigh. He would rather rot in an uncomfortable collection cell in Blackgate for a number of years than remain in the asylum again under high-dose drugs and constant brainwashing. The puzzler was about to move on when an unusual object in the water demanded his attention. At first Edward thought it was just carelessly discarded garbage in the form of a burlap sack, but closer observation quickly made him doubt it. The man scratched his chin and fixed the object curiously, trying to figure out what it was in the end. A stronger wave suddenly created clarity: a bony hand pressed itself against the surface, the fingers equipped with slightly orange shining syringes. Definitely a human. The Riddler hesitated at this realization and stared in disbelief into the black broth, then swallowed a growing lump in his throat. Somehow the figure looked strangely familiar. Another movement in the river revealed the outline of a well known gas mask. At that moment it hit the raven-haired man like a hard slap in his face. He literally tore his green suit jacket off his body and without hesitation hurried into the icy water, swam with strong strokes in the direction of the lifeless body. The cold clasped his limbs with a firm hand when he plunged into the water and wanted to immediately pull him down into the depths of the merciless river. The inventor shuddered and finally reached his goal with chattering teeth. He cupped the thin shoulders, turned the person face up, and hastily pulled the body toward the bank. His blue eyes searched in panic for a ladder, finally found it in close proximity. Edward heaved the gaunt figure out of the water, clearly breathless. It took a few attempts to completely pull the lifeless body out of the broth. The tinkerer snorted heavily and then turned his head to the person next to him on the floor, stared in pure shock at the meager remains of a once seasoned man. Jonathan Crane. The raven-haired man didn't know what to say for a second.

Very carefully he felt the battered upper body through the wildly patched up linen clothes, felt the many probably serious injuries and open broken bones. Something had nearly torn Scarecrow's entire rib cage apart. The inventor hadn't counted, of course, but several ribs protruded at impossible angles and pierced the pale skin. Only a few seconds passed before the first blood stains visibly appeared through the thin fabric. They spread at an alarming rate. The Riddler gasped and watched the whole scene in silent shock, unable to do anything. It was almost unreal, looked like a feverish dream. The cold did the rest and practically paralysed his mind. The man finally shook his head slightly, reminding himself that this most likely wasn't a wacky nightmare. He clenched his teeth tightly and searched the body for further injuries. He skilfully ignored the noticeably bent leg. It looked painful, but it was definitely the smallest problem at the moment. Edward came to a stop at the completely torn apart gas mask and gently put his fingers around the edges. He carefully pulled the rubber upwards, pausing again and again doing this. Every additional centimetre revealed the pure destruction of a formerly kind-of handsome face. The entire lower lip was only hanging in tatters from the rest of the flesh, the chin was tattered to the bare bone and the tinkerer did not even want to talk about the pathetic remains of the nose. Even the eyes were unrecognizable. Cracks ran across the greying iris, suggesting the terrible suspicion that the man at the bottom had been deprived of his sight. Everything was accompanied by increasing bleeding from the deep wounds. The icy water had probably narrowed the vessels so much that Jonathan had at least not suffered too much blood loss while he was floating lifeless in the river. The Riddler finally managed to remove the gas mask completely from his head and shuddered at the sight of the completely unrecognizable face. The red fluid oozed from the injuries, ran in rivulets from the pale skin. The raven-haired man forgot to breathe for a moment. Only a strong pain in his lungs signalled that he needed air. He huffed heavily and leaned over his companion, looking at the lifeless body. Suddenly Jonathan winced violently, doubled over in seemingly unimaginable pain. Scarecrow coughed barely audibly, salty water squeezed out of his ragged mouth and to Edward's shock from a few openings around his jaw. The puzzler cursed loudly and turned the man on his side, helping him at least to get the liquid out of his throat.

The Riddler tensed up at the rattling noises and screamed in panic: "Holy fucking shit, John! What the hell happened to you?” The addressee suddenly moved completely asymmetrically, as if his own body wanted to turn against him. The lean man began to shiver and more and more blood gathered around his dying figure. The tinkerer frowned instantly, blinked just a few times. His friend died. Jonathan Crane was about to die. Looking at all the injuries, it was obvious. The unusually factual statement was like a stab in the heart of the raven-haired man. A brutal blow to his stomach. After a while the older man stopped spitting on water, only panting heavily from the exertion. Edward finally put his arms under the armpits of the Master of Fear and pulled him up onto his lap, placing his hands on his broken collarbones. The former psychiatrist was now shaking incessantly, his eyes twitching wildly, unable to focus. The Riddler's lips trembled as he spoke softly: “Don't move too much, John. Really. Relax if you can." The injured man coughed up more blood, the partially broken fingers tremblingly searched for a way to the forearms of the other. Edward felt an electrical impulse rush through his body as pure ice touched his cold and damp skin. The bony hands cupped his wrists, clinging to him, weakening. Jonathan croaked in an unimaginably distorted voice: "Is it you, Edward?" The addressee felt the first tears welling up in his eyes, tried to blink them away. He tightened his grip on the older man, held him close to his chest, trying to give him the last bit of warmth he could offer to him. The tinkerer whispered almost tearfully: “Yes, I'm here, John. I'm here.” He felt the other's muscles weaken more and more every passing second. The former psychiatrist's dead opals began to close in slow motion. Edward sniffed unexpectedly loudly, stared at the body below and spat louder than planned into the night: "Don't you dare to die now, you imbecile! Do not even think about it! I'll get you back from hell personally, only to turn your neck for good!” The lean man twitched a few times, but the movements became more and more sluggish.

After a while one of the grey eyes moved up to him, looked deeply into his soul with the greatest effort. Jonathan's voice was nothing more than a murmur in the wind, barely audible and at the same time clearer than ever before: “Is it going to be day soon, Edward? I want to see how the sun comes up.” The raven-haired man finally lost all his self-control. A torrent of tears pressed from his eyes and ran unhindered down his chilled cheeks. He didn't dare to move, just replied in a brittle voice: "Yes, soon, John." The former psychiatrist seemed to calm down with this answer, his body gradually lost all tension and finally sagged completely together. The eyes stayed half open, frozen in that moment. After a while, the Riddler looked up from the gaunt man's face and stared into the rising sun in the deep red sky of Gotham City.


End file.
